The Constantin Marriage

by Lindsay Armstrong

  It was on the way down that he reached up and swung her down from the last rock—although she was perfectly capable of climbing down herself—and kept his hands on her waist.

  She looked a question at him, but he merely studied her from head to toe—the sweat on her face and the tendrils of damp hair stuck to her cheeks, despite her hat, the outline of her mouth. The place where her slender neck disappeared into the V of her checked shirt and the soft hollows at the base of her throat. The swell of her breasts beneath her shirt.

  ‘I could have done that,’ she said huskily—anything to break the tension that was building up inside her.

  ‘I know.’ He smiled slightly. ‘It just seemed the gallant thing to do.’

  ‘Gallant!’ something cried within her. If only he knew what a trial his being gallant was to her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled. ‘Let me know when I can be gallant back.’

  He laughed this time. ‘We have a slight weight-ratio problem in that line, Tattie.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’ She looked up at him and tried to block his tall proximity from her senses. ‘In that respect you probably need a wife a little taller than five feet two…’ She stopped and blinked rapidly, appalled at even mentioning the subject.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. They say small packages can be very…sweet.’ He looked her up and down again—comprehensively and, she thought, significantly, as if he was assessing her sweetest points, in fact.

  ‘Oh. Well.’ Aware that she was babbling, but unable to help herself, she ploughed on, ‘I’m sure there are other ways of being gallant than swinging people off rocks.’

  He moved his hands on her waist. ‘Possibly. I’ll let you know when I think you’re being particularly gallant, Tattie.’ But his eyes were particularly dark and wicked.

  And he let her go and brought her horse to her.

  Tattie managed to mount without any mishaps, considering the hammering of her pulses and the confused state of her mind. But all the way home she was asking herself a question—what was going on?

  There was a surprise waiting for them at the homestead.

  Marie and the farrier’s wife had had a spring clean and Marie was engaged in cooking dinner.

  ‘This is very nice of you, Marie,’ Tattie said, ‘but you didn’t have to.’

  ‘No problem,’ Marie replied airily. ‘I know how nicely you and Mr Constantin do things in Darwin—I saw a spread of your apartment in a magazine. And your mother used to do the same here when they had important visitors, so I thought…it would be nice, that’s all. I got the good silver out and polished it up.’

  Tattie hesitated, then went into the dining room to take a look.

  The old oak table was set for two with the best china, shining silver, gleaming crystal and candles.

  She came back to the kitchen. ‘It looks lovely, Marie, but—’

  ‘You’ve got plenty of time to have a soak in the tub and get changed,’ Marie said. ‘I won’t be ready to dish up for another hour.’

  Tattie eyed her as she moved busily from the stove to the counter, and knew she would disappoint her dreadfully if she didn’t at least change—something her mother had always encouraged for dinner.

  But she took the thought with her to the bathtub that Alex was responsible for this, she just knew it—what she didn’t know was why.

  She hadn’t brought a lot of gear with her, but she had a pair of ivory stretch cotton trousers, a ruby silk-knit cowl-neck top and a pair of little-heeled patent ruby shoes.

  Would have to do, she thought as she surveyed herself in her bedroom mirror and swung her newly washed hair. Then she rummaged through her dressing-table drawers and came up with a pair of flower earrings, roses edged in gold—she hadn’t worn them since she was about sixteen but the main colour matched her top. She put them on, tucked her hair behind her ears and nodded at her reflection—Marie would appreciate the touch, she thought.

  They met in the lounge and she wasn’t surprised to see Alex had changed into a blue and white striped shirt with navy trousers.

  ‘So this was your idea,’ she said as she accepted a glass of sherry from him.

  His eyebrows rose. ‘Not at all. I merely got told you would be dressing for dinner. I gathered I’d better do likewise.’

  She frowned. ‘I still feel I’m being conspired against.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said hastily, and sipped her sherry.

  ‘Well, it was you who probably got Marie all hepped up.’

  ‘Why would I have that effect on her?’

  She was sorely tempted to tell him he had that effect on all women but desisted—even in irony it wasn’t an admission she cared to make at the moment.

  ‘Whoever’s idea, perhaps it wasn’t such a bad one,’ he said tranquilly while she battled with her demons.

  ‘You look very nice, Tattie.’ His gaze lingered on the ruby top and the flower earrings. ‘One thing I can never take exception to is your dress sense.’

  ‘What do you take exception to?’ She regarded him, a true Beaufort beneath all her Beaufort ancestors.

  He looked her over again. ‘Not a lot. Shall we dine?’

  It might have been roast beef—and you could get fairly sick of beef on a cattle station—but Marie had excelled herself. It was tender, faintly pink, melt-in-the-mouth beef, accompanied by Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings. There was a brandy pudding to follow. And it was only after she’d served the pudding that Marie left them alone and retired to the head stockman’s cottage.

  ‘I feel exhausted,’ Tattie said as she heard the back door close at last. ‘As if I’ve been under a searchlight, expected to come up to all Marie’s House & Garden expectations or be instrumental in her living the Constantin lifestyle vicariously.’

  Alex grinned and looked around. ‘We have nowhere near the history the Beauforts have, so don’t blame the Constantins, Tattie.’

  ‘I feel like blaming them.’ She pushed her dessert plate away and rose to pour the coffee. ‘Shall we have this in front of the fire?’

  He agreed, and when they were settled Tattie said thoughtfully, ‘Alex, I don’t know a great deal about you, your father’s right.’

  ‘I hope you’re not going to harp on Flora Simpson; there is truly no more to be said. In more ways than one, now.’

  Tattie rested her cheek on the plum velvet of her favourite wing chair and studied him. He was stretched out in an armchair on the other side of the fireplace, watching the fire, and he hadn’t turned his head to her as he spoke. There had been a dry, unimpressed note in his voice too.

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘I’m not going to harp on Flora Simpson. You’re right, there’s no point. It’s just that when I see you being the quintessential cattleman and grazier I can’t help wondering how it fits in with your pearling background.’

  Alex looked at her at last. ‘When I was about seventeen my father decided to diversify and he threw me in at the deep end. He bought Mount Cookson, in the Territory, and told me it was mine to sink or swim with.’

  ‘Of course you swam with it,’ Tattie supplied with a tinge of bitterness in her voice.

  He looked amused. ‘I very nearly sank it. It was only buffalo that saved me.’

  She looked interested. ‘Go on. I know there’s a bit of a market for buffalo meat, but not that much, I would have thought.’

  ‘Strangely enough there’s now a market for buffalo from whence they came—Indonesia and south-east Asia. I started exporting them, but as breeding stock. I still export buffalo from Cookson, as a matter of fact, although I’ve got back into cattle there as well.’

  ‘The boy wonder.’

  ‘Not really; there was a lot of hard work involved. And it helps to be able to turn your hand to a few things. For instance, I was always interested in mechanics, even as a kid.’

  ‘So motors hold no mysteries for you, you only have to look a horse in the eye for it to know who�
�s boss, you’re a lot stronger than I am—all this is very depressing, Alex.’

  He reached for his coffee. ‘I’ve seen women who can strip a motor, prime a pump, stand no nonsense from a horse and throw a calf.’

  ‘Big, tough women?’ she hazarded.

  He grinned at her. ‘Generally, but not always. And you do ride beautifully, Tattie.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured humbly. ‘Alex, why do I get the feeling this week is designed to…give me a crash course in how unsuitable I am for the task I’ve set myself?’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry if that’s how it’s turned out. I was only trying to help.’

  ‘But you don’t think I can do it?’

  He grimaced.

  ‘You can be honest, Alex.’

  He sat forward with his cup in his hands. ‘Tattie, no, I don’t think you can do it.’

  ‘And you’re hoping, now that I’ve more or less seen it for myself, I’ll pass the reins over to you and stay married to you?’

  Alex put his cup down and stood up. He wandered to the fireplace, put another log on, then stood staring down at it with his hands shoved into his pockets. ‘I take it that goes against the grain, Tattie?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t have much option.’

  ‘Then I have a suggestion.’ He told her what it was.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE stared at him with her mouth open for a long moment, then sat up suddenly. ‘Say all that again!’

  ‘The market for tourism is huge in this part of Australia.’ He repeated himself patiently. ‘Visitors flock from all over the world to see the Kimberley region and the Northern Territory. And many cattle stations are going into tourism as a sideline. They’re offering accommodation—they’re offering the cattle-station “experience” as well as the “top end of Australia” experience. The fantastic scenery, the Aboriginal culture, the fishing, the crocodiles—and I think Beaufort, and you, would be ideal for such a venture.’

  ‘Why me?’

  He looked around and shrugged. ‘You’re a Beaufort down to your socks, and you have your pioneering ancestors on the walls to prove it. People love that kind of history and authenticity. You have a lot of taste and discrimination when it comes to providing accommodation.’ He gestured. ‘This house is almost ready to go as it is—’

  ‘That’s my mother’s taste and discrimination,’ she said rapidly. ‘But go on.’

  ‘And you have a real feel for the country, Tattie. Few guests, even if they were paying through the nose for the experience, would fail to be moved by how much you love this place.’

  She blinked several times. ‘They needn’t all pay through the nose. We could have some bunkhouse guests.’

  He smiled. ‘Of course, you’d have to assess how you would feel about a lot of people visiting Beaufort.’

  She looked around at her ancestors. ‘If it would mean I could save Carnarvon, I wouldn’t feel as if I’d let them down,’ she said intensely. Her shoulders slumped and she swallowed. ‘But it could take years to get going. I’d have to get a loan—’

  ‘Or take me on as a partner.’

  The words hung in the air.

  She gazed at him warily.

  He shrugged. ‘It makes good business sense, Tattie. We already operate cruises between Broome and Wyndham; we have an advertising campaign well in place all over the world. We have access to a lot of people already coming here. We could give Beaufort a lot of promotion.’

  ‘It’s just…’ she began.

  ‘And you could pay me back every cent I put into this operation, as well as anything I spend on Carnarvon to get it out of the red.’

  ‘What—’ she licked her lips ‘—what about our marriage?’

  ‘It stays as is.’

  ‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘I thought you were ready to wash your hands of me.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said simply. ‘Perhaps I’ve come to a better understanding of you, Tattie. Perhaps I’m still curious to know the very good reason you had for not wanting to change our marriage. Who knows?’

  ‘I…I…’ She closed her mouth frustratedly, then, ‘How do you mean, a better understanding of me?’

  He paused. ‘You’ve got much more spirit than I gave you credit for when I married you. And I don’t know why but I’ve got the feeling you would love to prove yourself to me.’ He put his head on one side and watched her narrowly.

  She gasped. ‘How did you know?’

  But he only looked at her enigmatically.

  ‘What if I don’t want to stay married to you once I haven’t got a cash-flow problem and Carnarvon is running well again?’

  ‘We can reassess the situation then.’

  Tattie discovered several emotions running through her. A sense of mystification, a sense of excitement, but also a little thread of relief. You’re still hoping, aren’t you? she asked herself. That he’ll fall in love with you…

  She looked away and trembled inwardly. It would seem she just couldn’t help herself, but she hadn’t been helped by these last few days. Days when she’d wondered if it mightn’t be happening for him?

  But there was nothing to indicate that now, she thought as she switched her gaze back to her husband, standing so tall and thoughtful beside the fire. No way to know, for her anyway, what was going through his mind.

  ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll do it. Thank you.’

  ‘I think this calls for a celebration.’ He looked down at her. ‘Shall we crack a bottle of champagne? To seal our—business—partnership?’

  ‘Why not?’ She went to get up.

  ‘Stay there. I’ll do it.’

  She was seated exactly as he’d left her when he came back with the champagne and two glasses.

  He popped the cork, handed her a foaming glass and pulled up the footstool. ‘Cheers.’ He sat down in front of her.

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘I thought you’d be more excited. You were earlier.’

  She tried to smile. ‘I feel quite…stunned.’

  ‘Drink up,’ he suggested.

  She drank half a glass, then he took it from her and stood up to pull her to her feet and into his arms.

  ‘Alex?’ she breathed.

  ‘We may be business partners now, but we’re also married, Mrs Constantin.’

  ‘I thought you said we’d continue as is?’

  His lips quirked. ‘This is not something we’ve never done before, Tattie.’ And he bent his head to tease her lips apart at the same time as he moved his hands down her back, sculpting her figure beneath the ruby silk jersey of her top and the thin cotton of her trousers.

  He tasted of champagne—fresh and slightly tart—so did she, she guessed—and he felt hard but warm against her. Then he slipped his hands beneath her top, unerringly unclipped her bra and cupped her breasts.

  She shuddered against him and slid her hands up to his shoulders, every inch of her body alive and urgently in need of his hands on it. Then she was kissing him and moving against him with a fire of desire surging through her.

  And he led her to even more pleasure as he plucked her nipples and caressed her hips, all the time kissing her and allowing her the freedom of his body. To touch and stroke and marvel in his strength against her own small softness.

  But just as her breathing reached a ragged crescendo and she was about to beg him to take her he brought their embrace down from the clouds and to a conclusion whereby there was a foot of space between them and no contact other than his hand on her elbow to steady her.

  ‘What…?’ she whispered uncomprehendingly.

  ‘I don’t think we should do anything—you might regret, Tattie,’ he said.

  ‘You… I…’ She stopped and wildly sought for some understanding. But all she could see in his eyes was irony, and then she understood.

  She took a deep breath. ‘You’re right. Goodnight, Alex.’

  For a long time before she fell asleep her emotions defied descri
ption. What kind of a fool had she made of herself? How could she have let herself go like that? What game was he playing with her? Well, she thought she knew that. He was trying to show her she had no self-control when he really set his mind to arousing her, and forcing her to face the irony of it in the light of her refusal to consummate their marriage.

  Which led her directly to an old question she’d asked herself at least once before…

  Did she love or did she hate Alex Constantin?

  By morning, when she woke in a mess of twisted bed-clothes, all her questions seemed to be academic compared to the problem of how to face him again.

  But when she forced herself to get dressed and appear at breakfast he had a surprise waiting for her—a puppy, the most adorable blue heeler with black-tipped ears and tail, and he simply put it in her arms.

  ‘Oh! Where…? How…?’ She gazed at him incredulously.

  ‘One of the ringers’ dogs had this litter six weeks ago and Jim just happened to mention it to me yesterday. So I went to have a look and picked him out myself. I hope he brings you a lot of joy and companionship.’

  Tattie felt the warm little body squirm against her, got her nose licked, and was subjected to the anxious gaze of a baby removed from its mother and its siblings and not at all sure what on earth was going on.

  ‘Oh… Oh, sweetheart,’ she crooned, and hugged it.

  ‘You’re gorgeous!’

  The puppy wriggled ecstatically, then closed its eyes and fell asleep.

  Tattie raised a blue gaze full of wry amusement to Alex, and just about everything she’d planned to say to him flew out of the window. What kind of game do you think you’re playing with me, Alex Constantin? I no more want to be involved in a business partnership, let alone a marriage, with you than I want to fly to the moon. I not only don’t like you, I don’t approve of you…